This Road
by Handmaiden
Summary: Song-fic about martyrs through the ages. Rating is for violence. I'm not a great writer, so constructive criticism is appreciated.
1. Rome, 129 AD

Disclaimer: I don't own "This Road," Jars of Clay does. I would also like to apologize for how depressing this entire fic is.  
  
  
  
This Road  
  
Chapter 1  
  
Rome, 129 AD  
  
1 All heavy laden  
  
Acquainted with sorrow  
  
May Christ in our marrow  
  
Carry us home  
  
Food, everywhere. I grabbed a chicken leg and began gulping down the meat without chewing. I ate long after I was no longer hungry, just to enjoy the feel of eating. I reached for some bread…  
  
…And felt myself shaken awake. "Dinah, come, wake up. It's almost time." I looked up into the face of my older sister, Rebekah. She smiled at me through the bruises on her face.  
  
"I don't think I can walk," I replied. The hunger was back, though not so sharply. I had a vague notion that that was bad, that when you've not eaten in so long you no longer feel hungry, you're in trouble. But for the moment I was simply glad it's going away.  
  
"Come then, I'll carry you." She lifts me up, taking my weight on her own slight frame, so thin. Her bones poke into me as I clutch her, and she winces a bit from the bruises where the guards gripped her. She walks, swaying a bit, but with perfect dignity and peace, out of the cell. The guards leer as we and the others pass. There must be fifty of us in all. The strongest men were taken to be gladiators, though I know they'll refuse. Jacob will refuse, anyway. My brother might be strong, but he has always been the one to tell me never to harm others, even the ones who persecute us.  
  
We walk out into the blinding sunlight of the arena. The crowd screams their pleasure. I gulp and hug Rebekah closer. "I'm scared," I whisper.  
  
"Don't fear, little one. The Lord is taking care of us. He's waiting for us, to welcome us home," she whispers back. The guards close the gate behind us. At the far end of the arena, a door opens. I don't see what comes out, but I hear the lions' roaring. The guards drive the animals away from the walls with whips; I hear them coming closer. Some of the people around us now are screaming; some run, others simply sit down. A little boy behind my sister is crying. She holds my head to her shoulder, not letting me see what's coming.  
  
The screams grow louder, more intense. Some of them are from pain, not fear, and I know it's started. I start crying into her shoulder. Rebekah sings softly into my ear,  
  
Over the mountains and the sea  
  
Your river runs with love for me  
  
And I will open up my heart and let the healer set me free  
  
I start to sing with her.  
  
I'm happy to be in the truth  
  
And I will daily lift my hands  
  
For I will always sing of when Your love came down.  
  
Some of the others sing around us as well.  
  
I could sing of Your love forever  
  
I could sing of Your love forever  
  
2 I could sing of Your love forever  
  
She kneels on the ground, and I kneel with her. She smiles down at me, the sweetest, saddest smile I've ever seen, but joy is in her eyes. "Jesus, forgive them, and bring us home," we pray. As I clutch her hand, I feel teeth close on my neck. 


	2. Auschwitz, 1944

This Road  
  
Chapter 2  
  
Auschwitz, 1944  
  
1 From alabaster  
  
Come blessings of laughter  
  
Fragrance of passion  
  
And joy from the truth  
  
Everyone keeps whispering, "The Allies are coming. They're on their way." The others have so much hope, that they'll escape. But I don't have that same feeling; when they arrested us for hiding Jews in our home, my husband and I, I had the feeling that I wouldn't be returning from here. And whenever I pray for deliverance, for survival, He says no. It does not matter, though. To live is Christ, and to die is gain.  
  
The guards come in and start herding us out. "Shower time," they order, seemingly amused by it. "You all stink." I smile, relieved; we haven't been able to come clean for so long. I look at Miriam, next to me. She's so thin, so weak. I pull her to her feet and along with me. They'll shoot her if she looks like she's of no use.  
  
"Thank you, Hilda," she responds. Hesitating, "I've thought about what you said. About Jesus, I mean. Maybe you're right. I'll have to think about it a bit more."  
  
"Don't think too long. None of us know how long we have left," I respond. The guards have driven us to a large, squat room. For some reason, I shudder as I go in. They tell us to strip naked, that our clothes will be there when we return. None of us hesitates in removing our clothes. All our modesty was taken long ago, when they stripped us the first time and shaved our heads and put numbers on our arms. We walk into the shower room. It's strange, large and gray, with pipes into it. I realize suddenly the truth. The same thing is going on in scattered parts, now that we're all here and the guards have shut the door. I turn to Miriam. "Please, accept Jesus now. Believe in Him," I plead.  
  
She hesitates, confused by the rising noise around us. She starts to answer, but is interrupted as the pipes start pouring forth gas. She screams, and I hold her as she starts sobbing. People are trying to get out, but the doors are locked tightly. There is no escape.  
  
My world is going black at the edges. Miriam looks up at me, eyes fogging over as the gas takes effect. She smiles at me, the sweetest, saddest smile I've ever seen, but peace is in her eyes. "I believe," she whispers, then collapses. My last thought as I fall into that darkness as well is, "I'm coming, Lord." 


	3. USSR, 1952

This Road  
  
Chapter 3  
  
USSR, 1952  
  
1 Grant the unbroken  
  
Tears ever flowing  
  
From hearts of contrition  
  
Only for You  
  
I bite my lip, trying not to scream. The soldier drives the awl farther into my arm and I bite back another sob. "Tell us who the other church leaders are, and we'll let you go. All we need is a little information. If you turn in ten church members, you'll be free." I shake my head fiercely, knowing what will happen to them if I break. I should know – that is how I came to be here.  
  
"You outlive your usefulness," he threatens. Already they have ripped out several of my fingernails and broken my thumbs. I know what else they'll do to me before I die, but it doesn't matter. I'll be with Christ then, in eternal joy.  
  
Disgusted, he marches me back to my cell. I sit on the cold floor, avoiding the filthiest areas and the rat hole. A few days more at most, and then they'll execute me. I know it is coming, because they no longer really hope that I will tell them anything and I'm not valuable enough alive. I am not a prominent figure, and there is no one in the West who knows of me and is interceding on my behalf. There are only the prayers of the saints of my church, and they have many others for whom to pray. The government has been cracking down on the churches in my area.  
  
I hear footsteps in the hall and wearily lift my head. Somehow, I know they're coming for me. Lord, forgive them. Please, I pray that these guards would come to know You. One already has, and he was promptly shot by his best friend. I saw it happen. The door opens, and to guards drag me to my feet. "Your time is up. Deny your God and give us the names of members of your church, or you will be shot."  
  
I smile at him. "The Lord Jesus Christ is the Son of God, and He died for your sins. Believe and be saved!"  
  
He sneers, "Let us see if He saves you."  
  
When we exit to the firing range, another prisoner is there. "I am Nikolai," he says. "This does not sound nice, but I am glad you are here to die with me. Although I know we shall be with Christ, I am rather afraid of dying."  
  
I respond, "I am glad that you are here as well. And remember what our Lord said to the thief: 'Today you shall be with me in paradise.'"  
  
He smiles at me, the sweetest, saddest smile I've ever seen, but there is joy in his eyes. I look at the soldier, pointing his rifle at my face, smile, and tell him, "I forgive you," as he pulls the trigger. 


End file.
